


The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

by Doctor_Discord



Series: The Ego Manor [28]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, King Doesn't Deserve This, My Pure Son is a Good Soul, Sadism, The Author SUCKS, The Jims are only mentioned sorry, The author is not a nice person, Torture, extreme sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: The Host is a relatively docile man, with a beloved to call his own and a place among the egos. He is trusted and kind.But who was he before that?What was the Author like?





	The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword

**Author's Note:**

> OOOOOOOH! Now it's no secret I fucking LOVE the Host, he is my favorite, I adore him to pieces, but ever since I wrote 'Comfort in Fear' and King mentions that the Author wasn't 'nice' to him I've had THIS beautiful idea rolling around in my head and here it is! This was fucking AMAZING to write and I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did writing it!

The Author was in the manor.

King found this out abruptly one morning when he wandered into the kitchen for breakfast and was met with that shark-like grin and glittering golden eyes. He stiffened, unable to tear his eyes away from _him_ , and tapped Dark on the shoulder. “Uh, Dark? Can I… _talk_ to you for a second?” The demon raised an eyebrow, but stood all the same, following King out into the hall.

“ _What_ is he _doing_ here?!” King’s voice was a harsh whisper, the younger ego _seething_.

“Calm down, King, he’ll just be here for a few days. His cabin flooded last night due to the rainstorm and –” Dark’s attempt to be soothing only angered King further and he cut the other off.

“So you let him come _here_?! Why are you showing _sympathy_ to him, you _know_ what he’s like!”

“King, I understand you concerns, but I promise you, Wil and I have it under control. He won’t hurt you, or the Jims.”

King was silent for a moment, unable to comprehend what Dark was telling him through his anger. Finally, he spat, “That’s what you said _last_ time,” before he stalked back to the kitchen, cape whipping around him. Shooting a scathing glare at the Author, who was still sitting at the kitchen table, he grabbed a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and stormed outside to feed his squirrels, resolving not to eat anything himself in order to avoid being in the house with _him_ lurking the halls.

So wrapped up in his own rage, King didn’t notice the open notebook sitting before the Author, didn’t see the pen in his hand, and didn’t see the _gleam_ in his golden eyes as he watched King leave, grinning far too wide.

* * *

When King stepped back into the manor around mid-afternoon, he was in a much better mood. He was smiling happily as he stepped back into the kitchen through the back door. In fact, he’d nearly forgotten why he was so upset in the first place.

That is, until he walked into the living area and saw the Author sitting on the couch.

His body went rigid, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and he spun on his heel, hoping to leave before he was noticed. There was _no way_ he was staying there _alone_ with the Author, _never_ , he’d rather –

“Come here, King.”

King’s mind and body shut down at those words, fear washing over him like an icy wave. He closed his eyes, swallowing harshly. Maybe if he listened to him, it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if he obeyed, the Author wouldn’t hurt him.

Settling that mindset into place, King turned back around slowly, opening his eyes as he walked stiffly over to him, each step coiling the anxiety and terror rolling in his gut into a tighter, more painful knot. And then he was standing before the Author, gaze immediately drawn to those golden eyes, burning like twin suns with a sadism he didn’t even _try_ to hide and praying that his tremor wasn’t too noticeable.

The Author grinned, tilting his head to the side and reclining back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “Good boy.” King turned bright red at the demeaning praise, finally tearing his eyes away to instead stare at the floor, hands clenching into fists. His reaction only made the Author grin wider, and he hummed. King could feel his gaze sweeping over him, making him flush further. “Take off your cape and crown.” Closing his eyes again and remembering his hopeless ideology of _‘maybe it won’t be so bad,’_ he did as he was asked with a sinking feeling in his gut. When he opened his eyes, the Author was scanning him again, making his skin crawl. “Your shirt, too.”

At that, King took a step backwards, bringing his arms up in a half-hearted attempt of covering his chest, eyes widening. “What?! No!” He already felt far too vulnerable.

The Author’s eyes flashed, and he fingered the pages of his open notebook beside him. Picking up his pen, he scribbled something down without even looking, and suddenly _pain_ shot down King’s spine, sending him staggering. “Yes, you _will_.”

Choking back a terrified sob and not quite smothering a whimper, King pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it into the pile of his cape and crown. The Author uncrossed his legs, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes _burned_ , his lips upturned in a smirk. “ _Kneel_.”

King didn’t budge, his resolution to obey momentarily forgotten with stubborn defiance present in his eyes, despite being completely rigid with terror of what he _knew_ the Author was capable of, and the Author himself sighed, turning back his notebook and writing something down. Almost instantly a metal, bloodstained bat appeared in his lap and King’s eyes shot _wide_. When he tried to run, to _get away_ , he found he couldn’t move, body locked in place. “You know, King,” the Author said as he walked behind the frozen ego, bat trailing on the ground behind him. “This _defiance_ –” He accentuated his word with a grunt as he swung his bat, connecting _hard_ and _painfully_ with the backs of King’s knees, making his legs buckle as he dropped to the ground with a loud cry. “– _really_ doesn’t get you anywhere in the long run.”

He walked back around, propping his bat against the couch before he turned around and patted King on the cheek, making a pitying noise when he flinched at the touch. “I’ll be right back. And if I find out you’ve moved a muscle…” He trailed off, then grinned, a malicious glint in his eyes that sent shivers down King’s spine. “…I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

The Author moved out of his view, leaving King kneeling there on the floor, shirtless, with dull pain throbbing through his legs and desperately trying to hold back the terrified tears that threatened to fall. He considered calling out for help, but he had no doubt that the Author didn’t go far, and he didn’t want to risk the Jims coming to his aid and getting hurt.

He’d barely finished his train of thought when a hand was placed on his shoulder and he tensed, swallowing back a startled cry. “Did you miss me? Don’t worry, I was just getting something to play with.” The Author stepped back into his line of sight – along with the large kitchen knife he held loosely in his hand.

King immediately reared back, that knot in his gut cinching tighter with fear. “Wait –”

He was cut off by the tip of the blade resting under his chin. The Author hummed, cocking his head to the side and pressing a little harder, forcing King’s head to tilt back further. This time, he couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks, physically shaking. “Another sound like that and this knife will be buried in your pretty little throat. Got that?” He lowered the knife, but King didn’t move, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to stop crying, chest heaving and he flinched when he felt the Author’s hand cup his cheek.

He tensed again when his thumb began stroking his cheek, wiping away his tears, and he let out his first sob, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. The Author hushed him gently, slowly coaxing his eyes open. “You cry so pretty. It’s beautiful to watch.” There was a moment of still silence as the Author’s golden eyes studied him, watching him, and then he sucked in a quick breath of air, releasing it with a huff and a bright smile. “Right! Let us begin, shall we?”

He hefted the knife again, glancing at it before letting his eyes slide back to King, grin widening that much more. Then he rested the tip against King’s bare chest. The older ego stiffened instantly, holding his breath as he stared with wide, frightful eyes into the Author’s. “Please.” His voice broke, just a quiet whisper. “Please don’t.”

“Now now.” The Author ruffled his hair, then bent down so he was closer to his face. “Don’t make a sound, or this will hurt a _lot_ more.”

Then he dragged the blade downward.

King started to make a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat but he cut it off when the Author’s eyes flashed in warning. He pressed lightly with the knife, only just enough to break skin, but it still made King tremble with the effort of holding back his cries. When the Author was done, he stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “There we are!” King glanced down, and his head shot back up just as quickly, chest heaving as the messy ‘A’ carved into his chest dripped his own blood in tiny rivulets. The Author smiled at his panicked expression. “Don’t worry, it won’t scar. Didn’t press hard enough for that. At least…not this time.”

The Author hummed, tapping his chin lightly with the tip of the blade, painting it with King’s blood, his other hand resting on his hip. “What to do, what to do…” Suddenly his eyes lit up, burning bright with a sadistic hunger, and he let out a chuckle. “Oh I’ve _always_ wanted to do this!” He began to circle King, like a predator going in for the kill, twirling the blade between his fingers. “You know, King,” he started, trailing his spare hand along his back as he passed. “There’s a spot along your spine, an acupuncture point, that’s supposed to cause immense pain relief and, in general, feel fucking _fantastic_.” He paused, grabbing King’s chin and tilting his head to face him better. His face split in a shark-like grin. “…I wonder what would happen if you took a knife to it.”

King let out another sob, shoulders shaking and his head dropping to his chest as the Author let go of his chin, circling around to his back once more. He ran a hand down his spine before dragging it back upwards, gripping King’s hair and forcing him downwards, nearly pressing his forehead to the floor. “Now I don’t remember _exactly_ where this spot it, but I’m pretty sure we can find it.” King did his best to not flinch when he felt the cold tip of the blade against his back. “Remember: don’t move or make a sound. This _is_ along your spine and, well, if I dig a little too deep, I _may_ end up ‘accidentally’ paralyzing you.”

The Author began to drag the blade slowly down his spine, careful to press lightly with his other hand still firm in King’s hair. King gasped out another sob, trembling violently. “ _Please_.” Another sob. “Please please _please_ , just _stop_.”

The Author paused, and King’s breath hitched, halting his sobs, when the blade shifted from his back to digging slightly into his Adam’s apple. “Careful there, King. That sounded an awful lot like _noise_ to me.”

He resumed his task, humming a happy tune as he trailed a line down his back, King choking beneath him as he forced himself to hold back his cries, though he was unable to stop his trembling. He could tell the Author was getting impatient; he was digging a little deeper, and he could feel the blood running down his back and into his hair. “I _know_ it’s around here _somewhere_ …Maybe if I…?”

He twisted the knife to the right and King’s eyes rolled back in his head, going completely limp as both _relief_ and _agony_ flooded through him in conflicting, simultaneous waves. The Author _grinned_ , showing far too much teeth. “ _There_ we go…” He twisted the blade again, digging the tip in a little deeper and King twitched, body spasming as his nerves were overloaded. He was completely _numb_ ; he couldn’t feel the pain anymore, but he couldn’t feel the _relief_ either. The Author hummed, clearly disappointed, when he realized King could no longer feel what he was doing. “Pity. But I guess that just means we’ll have to move on to more _extreme_ activities now won’t we?”

He heaved King back upright by his hair, then moved to sit back on the couch with a sigh, crossing his legs once more. King didn’t move, didn’t think he could – his head hung limply on his shoulders, his body completely slouched with the occasional twitch. His consciousness kept fading in and out, his vision blurry and swimming before him, his breathing harsh and shallow. He couldn’t _take_ much _more of this_ …

He choked out another sob, tears flooding down his face, as the Author gently took a hold of his wrist, curling both their fingers around his opposite forearm. The Author squeezed slightly, and King was helpless as the younger ego locked eyes with him, his golden eyes near painful to look at. “I want you to break it.” His eyes glittered. “Break it, or I’ll do it for you.”

King shook his head as the Author sat back, physically shaking. “I can’t…” His voice was just a broken whisper. “No, I _can’t_ , please, _please_ don’t make me, I _can’t_ …”

The Author made a pitying noise, moving to pick up his pen. “Well, I suppose that’s fair. I can’t ask much of you now, not in this state.” He smiled, tapping King on the nose. “You’re pretty out of it, arentcha? I guess I can give you a _little_ help. Here.” He picked up his notebook, laying it in his lap and humming as he wrote. “There…we…go!”

He snapped the notebook shut, and King let out another loud sob as the hand currently loosely wrapped around his arm tightened, no longer in his control. His chest heaved as hysterics set in, his arm slowly being bent in a way it was not meant to. “No, no please, _please_ , please _stop_ , you can’t… _please!_ ” His cried grew louder and louder with each word, pain beginning to spike up his arm. He attempted to jerk his arm away, to loosen his own grip, but that only set further agony shooting up, and he _sobbed_ , unable to tear his eyes away from his arm even as he began to _feel_ it splintering. And then it stopped, his hand halting in its movements and keeping him on the precipice of complete _agony_ as the Author grabbed his chin, forcing him to face him. “ _Please_ …”

“Keep begging, King.” The Author’s grin was _terrifying_ , King’s blood still staining his face. “Keep it up with your pretty little begging. You think it’ll get me to stop. But let me let you in on a little _secret_ : You can beg all you want, but I’ll _never_ stop. I enjoy this _far_ too much to do that. Seeing the pain, the _fear_ on your face, in your eyes…it gives me _life!_ So go on. _Beg_ some more. Let’s see how far it’ll _get_ you.”

King almost couldn’t speak. He couldn’t see past the tears. His arm _throbbed_. He swallowed, chest heaving, as he stared into the Author’s eyes. “ _Please_.”

His arm snapped.

King _screamed_ , and the Author dropped his chin, completely ignoring him as he set about cleaning up his things. King curled into a ball, loud, gasping, _painful_ sobs being wretched from his chest as he pressed his forehead to the floor, cradling his broken arm to his chest. He could feel the blood soaking into hair, into his pants, but he didn’t want to open his eyes and _see_ what the Author had done to him. When he finally managed to, he nearly threw up; his forearm was bent at a complete right angle, bone and blood and muscle far too visible through the ruined skin. King squeezed his eyes shut, arching his back more to hold his arm closer, trying to protect it as sobs continued to wreck his throat.

So lost in his own agony, he almost didn’t hear the pounding footsteps drawing closer. He barely held consciousness within his grasp. The words that reached his ears were fuzzing and interlaced with ringing, whether from his own ears or the ringing that constantly followed Dark around, he couldn’t tell. “ _What_ the _Hell_ is going on – _KING!_ ”

“Ah, so the two lovers have finally joined us!” King flinched at the Author’s voice, flinched when he felt a gentle hand against his back – careful to avoid the bloody line – and then Wilford’s voice was whispering soothing things into his ear, the older ego’s aura washing over him and numbing some of his pain, leaving him a whimpering, crying mess on the floor.

Dark’s voice was both horrified and _seething_. “ _What_ did _you do_?”

The Author raised his hands in a placating motion, grin still plastered to his face. “I think the evidence speaks for itself. No need to kick me out; I can tell when I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He tucked his notebook under his arm, picking up his bat and laying it over his shoulders, leaving the bloody knife on the couch. He glanced around the room, golden eyes glimmering with cold calculations. “You know, I think I may move in here, to ‘the main hub.’ My cabin has its charms, but I must admit this place has a certain… _je ne sais quoi_ about it.”

Wilford growled as the Author drew closer to King once more, reaching out to ruffle his hair, but the reporter’s aura lashed out, cutting a gash into the palm of his hand and making the Author yelp and jerk away. “ _Don’t_ touch him. You’ve done enough damage.”

“ _Gah!_ Jesus Christ, fine, I get it, I’ll _go_.” The Author’s whole demeanor changed, mouth contorting into a snarl and shooting scathing, _burning_ glares around the room as his hand dripped blood down his fingers. “But one day, you’ll let your guard down. One day, I’ll come _back_. It may take week or months or _years_ , and maybe you’ll be different, and maybe _I’ll_ be different…but I _will_ be _here_.”

Dark’s voice was nearly unintelligible with the amount of furious, layered echoing his writhing aura was causing. “I will _never_ let that happen.”

“Oh but you _will_.” The Author tapped his temple, smearing his own blood across it. “Because I’ve _seen_ it. Words are a powerful gift to have, Dark, especially with a gift like _mine_. I’ll take my leave now. Have fun cleaning up the _mess_.” The Author opened his notebook, dragging his bloody finger across the pages, and suddenly he was gone.

King’s head _throbbed_ the second the Author left, and he cried out, the ringing picking up volume inside his mind. He couldn’t feel his arm. His breathing was slowing down, his hair and pants were drenched in his own blood, consciousness was slipping through his fingers –

“ _Dark!_ Call the hospital!”

King passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> The Author sucks ass, but God I love working with him. Beautiful sadistic piece of shit. Anyway, I've got an announcement! Wednesday's story is going to come out Tuesday instead, on New Year's Day, and for those of you who followed my Christmas Event, specifically reading the story 'Christmas Documentary!', you may know why! ALSO, I keep forgetting to say this, but if you guys have any requests or ideas about stories for the egos you'd like me to write, just ask! They won't come out anytime soon, considering I've got, what, 10 word docs open for stories yet to be published, but they will happen! Anyway, see you guys Tuesday!


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